Not far from the Appian way, Oswald and Corinne visited the Columbarium, where slaves are united with their masters; where are seen in the same tomb, all who lived under the protection of one man or one woman. The women of Livia, for example, they who, appointed to the care of her beauty, struggled for its preservation against the power of time and disputed with the years some one of her charms, are placed by her side in little urns. We fancy that we see an assemblage of the obscure dead round one of the illustrious departed, not less silent than his train. At a little distance from here, is perceived the field where vestals, unfaithful to their vows, were buried alive; a singular instance of fanaticism in a religion naturally tolerant.

"I will not conduct you to the catacombs," said Corinne to Lord Nelville, "though, by a singular chance, they are under this Appian way; tombs thus having their abode beneath tombs; but this asylum of the persecuted Christians has something so gloomy, and so terrible in it, that I cannot find resolution to return thither. It does not inspire the same affecting melancholy as more open situations; it is like a dungeon adjoining a sepulchre; the torment of life accompanied with the horrors of death. Undoubtedly, we feel penetrated with admiration of men who, by the power of enthusiasm alone, have been able to support this subterraneous existence; separating themselves from the sun and from nature; but the mind is so ill at ease in this abode that it is incapable of receiving any improvement. Man is a part of the creation; he must find his moral harmony in the whole system of the universe, in the usual order of destiny, and certain violent and formidable exceptions may astonish the mind; but they are so terrifying to the imagination that the habitual disposition of the soul cannot benefit by them. Let us rather," continued Corinne, "go and see the pyramid of Cestius: the Protestants who die here are all buried around this pyramid, which affords them a mild, tolerant, and liberal asylum." "Yes," answered Oswald, "it is there that several of my fellow-countrymen have found their last retreat. Let us go thither; and thus, at least, it may happen that I shall never quit you."—Corinne shuddered at these words, and her hand trembled as she supported herself upon the arm of Lord Nelville—"I am better, much better," said he, "since I have known you."—The countenance of Corinne was lighted up anew with that sweet and tender joy which it was accustomed to express.

Cestius presided over the Roman games. His name is not to be found in history; but it is rendered illustrious by his tomb. The massive pyramid which encloses his ashes, defends his death from that oblivion which has entirely effaced his life. Aurelian, fearing that this pyramid might be employed as a fortress to attack Rome, has caused it to be enclosed within the walls which are yet standing, not as useless ruins, but as the actual enclosure of the modern city. It is said that the form of the pyramid is in imitation of the flame which ascends from a funeral pyre. It is certain that this mysterious form attracts the eye and gives a picturesque aspect to every perspective of which it forms a part. Opposite this pyramid is Mount Testaceo, under which there are extremely cool grottos where feasts are given in summer. The festivals of Rome are not disturbed at the sight of tombs. The pines and the cypresses which are perceived at various distances in the smiling country of Italy, are also pregnant with solemn remembrances; and this contrast produces the same effect as the verses of Horace,

Raphael has said that modern Rome was almost entirely built with the ruins of the ancient city, and it is certain that we cannot take a step here without being struck by some relics of antiquity. We perceive the eternal walls, to use the expression of Pliny, through the work of the later centuries; the Roman edifices almost all bear a historical stamp; in them may be remarked, if we may so express it, the physiognomy of ages. From the Etruscans to our days, from that people, more ancient than the Romans themselves, and who resembled the Egyptians by the solidity of their works and the fantastical nature of their designs, from that people to Chevalier Bernini, an artist whose style resembles that of the Italian poets of the seventeenth century, we may observe the human mind at Rome, in the different characters of the arts, the edifices and the ruins. The middle ages, and the brilliant century of the Medici, re-appear before our eyes in their works, and this study of the past in objects present to our

sight, penetrates us with the genius of the times. It was believed that Rome had formerly a mysterious name which was only known to a few adepts; it seems that it is yet necessary to be initiated into the secret of this city. It is not simply an assemblage of habitations, it is the history of the world, figured by divers emblems and represented under various forms.

Corinne agreed with Lord Nelville that they should go and visit together, the edifices of modern Rome, and reserve for another opportunity the admirable collections of pictures and statues which it contains. Perhaps, without accounting for it to herself, she desired to put off till the most distant day possible, those objects which people cannot dispense with seeing at Rome; for who has ever quitted it without having contemplated the Apollo Belvedere and the pictures of Raphael? This guarantee, weak as it was, that Oswald should not leave her, pleased her imagination. Is there not an element of pride some one will ask, in endeavouring to retain the object of our love by any other means than the real sentiment itself? I really do not know; but the more we love, the less we trust to the sentiment we inspire; and whatever may be the cause which secures the presence of the object who is dear to us, we always embrace it joyfully. There is often much vanity in a certain species of boldness, and if charms, generally admired, like those of Corinne, possess a real advantage, it is because they permit us to place our pride to the account of the sentiment we feel rather than to that which we inspire.

Corinne and Nelville began their observations by the most remarkable of the numerous churches of Rome—they are all decorated with ancient magnificence; but something gloomy and fantastical is mingled with that beautiful marble and those festival ornaments which have been taken from the Pagan temples. Pillars of porphyry and granite were so numerous in Rome that they have lavishly distributed them, scarcely considering them of any value. At St John Lateran, that church so famous for the councils that have been held in it, are found such a quantity of marble pillars that many of them have been covered with a cement of plaster to make pilasters, so indifferent have they become to these riches from their multitude.

Some of these pillars were in the tomb of Adrian, others at the Capitol; these latter still bear on their capitals the figures of the geese which saved the Roman people. Some of these pillars support Gothic, and others Arabian ornaments. The urn of Agrippa conceals the ashes of a Pope; for even the dead have yielded place to other dead, and the tombs have almost as often changed their masters as the abodes of the living.

Near St John Lateran is the holy stair-case, transported, it is said, from Jerusalem to Rome. It may only be ascended kneeling. Cæsar himself, and Claudius also, mounted on their knees the stair-case which conducted to the Temple of the Capitoline Jove. On one side of St John Lateran is the font where it is said that Constantine was baptised.—In the middle of the square is seen an obelisk, which is perhaps the most ancient monument in the world—an obelisk cotemporary with the Trojan war!—an obelisk which the barbarous Cambyses respected so much that in honour of it he put a stop to the conflagration of a city!—an obelisk for which a king pledged the life of his only son!—The Romans have, miraculously, brought this pillar to Italy from the lowest part of Egypt.—They turned the Nile from its course in order that it might seek it, and transport it to the sea. This obelisk is still covered with hieroglyphics which have preserved their secret during so many ages, and which to this day defy the most learned researches. The Indians, the Egyptians, the antiquity of antiquity, might perhaps be revealed to us by these signs.—The wonderful charm of Rome is not only the real beauty of its monuments; but the interest which it inspires by exciting thought; and this kind of interest increases every day with each new study.

One of the most singular churches of Rome, is that of St Paul: its exterior is like a badly built barn, and the interior is ornamented with eighty pillars of so fine a marble and so exquisite a make, that one would believe they belonged to an Athenian temple described by Pausanias. Cicero said—We are surrounded by the vestiges of history,—if he said so then, what shall we say now?

The pillars, the statues, the bas-reliefs of ancient Rome, are so lavished in the churches of the modern city, that there is one (St Agnes) where bas-reliefs, turned, serve for the steps of a stair-case, without any one having taken the trouble to examine what they represented. What an astonishing aspect would ancient Rome offer now, if the marble pillars and the statues had been left in the same place where they were found! The ancient city would still have remained standing almost entire—but would the men of our day dare to walk in it?

The palaces of the great lords are extremely vast, of an architecture often very fine, and always imposing: but the interior ornaments are rarely tasteful; we do not find in them even an idea of those elegant apartments which the finished enjoyments of social life have given rise to elsewhere. These vast abodes of the Roman princes are empty and silent; the lazy inhabitants of these superb palaces retire into a few small chambers unperceived, and leave strangers to survey their magnificent galleries where the finest pictures of the age of Leo X. are collected together. The great Roman lords of the present day, are as unacquainted with the pompous luxury of their ancestors, as these ancestors themselves were with the austere virtues of the Roman republic. The country houses convey still more the idea of this solitude, of this indifference of the possessors in the midst of the most admirable abodes in the world. People may walk in these immense gardens without suspecting that they have a master. The grass grows in the middle of the walks, and in these very walks are trees fantastically cut according to the ancient taste that prevailed in France.—What a singular whimsicality is this neglect of the necessary, and affectation of the useless!—But one is often surprised at Rome, and in the greater part of the other cities of Italy, at the taste of the Italians for extravagant ornaments,—they who have incessantly before their eyes the noble simplicity of the antique. They love what is brilliant, much better than what is elegant and commodious. They have in every instance, the advantages and the inconveniences of not living habitually in society. Their luxury is rather that of the imagination, than the luxury of actual enjoyment;—isolated as they are among themselves, they cannot dread the spirit of ridicule, which seldom penetrates at Rome into domestic secrecy; and often, in contrasting the interior with the exterior of their palaces, one would say, that the greater part of the Italian nobility arrange their dwellings more to dazzle the passers-by than to receive their friends.

After having surveyed the churches and the palaces, Corinne conducted Oswald to the villa Mellini, a solitary garden, without any other ornament than its magnificent trees. From here is seen, at a distance, the chain of the Appenines; the transparency of the air colours these mountains and throws them forward in the perspective, giving them a most picturesque appearance. Oswald and Corinne remained in this spot to enjoy the charms of the sky and the tranquillity of nature. It is impossible to form an idea of this singular tranquillity without having lived in Southern countries. On a hot day there is not felt the lightest breath of wind. The feeblest blade of grass is perfectly still, and the animals themselves partake of the indolence which the fine weather inspires: in the middle of the day, you neither hear the hum of flies, the chirping of grasshoppers, nor the song of birds; no object fatigues itself with useless and trifling agitation; all sleep till storm or the passions awaken the vehemence of nature, who then rushes with impetuosity from her profound repose.

There are in the gardens of Rome, a great number of trees clad in perennial green, which heighten the illusion produced by the mildness of the climate during winter. Pines, of a particular elegance, large, tufted towards the top, and interwoven with one another, form a kind of plain in the air, whose effect is charming when we mount sufficiently high to perceive it. The lower trees are placed beneath the shelter of this verdant vault. Two palm trees only are found in Rome which are both planted in the gardens of the monks; one of them, placed upon an eminence, serves as a landmark, and a particular pleasure must always be felt in perceiving and retracing in the various perspectives of Rome, this deputy of Africa, this type of a Southern climate more burning still than that of Italy, and which awakens so many new ideas and sensations.

"Do you not find," said Corinne, contemplating with Oswald the country surrounding them; "that nature in Italy disposes us more to reverie than any where else?—It might be said, that she is here more in affinity with man, and that the Creator uses her as a medium of interpretation between his creature and himself." "Undoubtedly," replied Oswald, "I think so; but who knows whether it may not be the deep feelings of tenderness which you excite in my heart, that render me sensible to all I see?—You reveal to me the emotions and thoughts, which external objects can give birth to. I existed but in my heart; you have awakened my imagination. But this magic of the universe, which you teach me to know, will never present me with any thing more lovely than your look, more moving than your voice." "May the sentiment I now inspire you with, last as long as my life," said Corinne, "or at least, may my life never survive the power of inspiring it!"

Oswald and Corinne terminated their tour of Rome by the Borghese villa. Of all the Roman gardens and palaces, here the splendours of nature and the arts, are assembled with the greatest taste and brilliancy. Here are seen trees of every kind, and magnificent fountains; an incredible number of statues, vases, and antique sarcophagi, mingled with the freshness of the youthful nature of the South. The ancient mythology here seems revived; the naiades are placed on the borders of rivers, the nymphs in woods worthy of them, the tombs beneath Elysian shades, and the statue of Esculapius in the middle of an isle, while that of Venus appears to rise out of the waters: Ovid and Virgil might walk in this enchanting spot, and still believe themselves in the Augustan age. The masterpieces of sculpture which the palace contains, give it a magnificence ever new. At a distance, through the trees, is perceived the city of Rome and St Peter's, the Campagna, and those long arches, the wrecks of aqueducts, which conveyed the springs from the mountains into ancient Rome. Everything is there that can excite thought, delight the imagination, and foster reverie. The most pure sensations are confounded with the pleasures of the soul, and give an idea of perfect happiness; but when we ask why this charming abode is not inhabited? they answer you that the malaria (la cattiva aria) will not permit any one to live here during summer.

This malaria, in a manner, lays siege to Rome; it advances every year some steps farther, and they are obliged to abandon the most charming habitations to its empire: undoubtedly, the absence of trees in the country about the city, is one of the causes of it; and it is perhaps, on that account, that the ancient Romans consecrated the woods to goddesses, in order to make them respected by the people. At present, forests without number have been cut down;—can there indeed exist, in our days, any place so sanctified, that the avidity of man will spare it from the work of devastation? The malaria is the scourge of the inhabitants of Rome, and threatens the city with an entire depopulation; but perhaps it increases the effect produced by the superb gardens which are seen within the walls of Rome. The malign influence is not felt by any external sign; you breathe an air which seems pure, and is very agreeable; the earth is smiling and fertile; a delicious coolness refreshes you in the evening after the burning heat of the day; and all this is death!

"I love," said Oswald to Corinne, "this mysterious, invisible danger, this danger under the form of the sweetest impressions. If death be only, what I believe it to be, a summons to a happier existence, why should not the perfume of flowers, the umbrage of fine trees, and the refreshing breath of the evening breeze, be the bearers of that summons? Undoubtedly, governments ought to watch in every way over the preservation of human life; but there are secrets in nature which the imagination alone can penetrate; and I easily conceive that neither the inhabitants nor the strangers who visit it, are disgusted with Rome, by the species of peril to which they are exposed there during the most beautiful seasons of the year."

THE MANNERS AND CHARACTER OF THE ITALIANS.

The indecision of Oswald's character, increased by his misfortunes, led him to dread forming any irrevocable resolve. He had not even dared, in his state of irresolution, to ask of Corinne the secret of her name and destiny; nevertheless, his love acquired every day new strength; he never beheld her without emotion; in company he could hardly quit, even for an instant, the place where she was seated; she did not speak a word that he felt not; nor did she experience one moment's sadness or gaiety, that was not reflected in his countenance. But in the midst of his admiration and of his love for Corinne, he recollected how little such a woman agreed with the English manner of living; how much she differed from the idea which his father had formed of her whom it would be proper for him to espouse; and all that he said to Corinne partook of the trouble and constraint which these reflections caused him.

Corinne perceived this too well; but it would have cost her so much to break off with Lord Nelville, that she herself endeavoured to avoid, as much as he, a decisive explanation; and as she was not possessed of much foresight she was happy with the present, such as it was, although it was impossible for her to know what would be the issue of it.

She had become entirely divided from the world, in order to devote herself entirely to her passion for Oswald. But at length, so much affected was she at his silence with regard to the future, that she resolved to accept an invitation for a ball to which she had been pressingly solicited. Nothing is more common at Rome than to leave society and to appear in it again, alternately, just as the parties feel it agreeable to themselves: it is the country where people trouble their minds the least with what is elsewhere called gossip; each one does as he pleases, without any person enquiring about it, or at least, without finding in others any obstacle either to his love or his ambition. The Romans are as inattentive to the conduct of their fellow-countrymen, as to that of strangers, who pass and repass through their city, the rendezvous of Europeans. When Lord Nelville knew that Corinne was going to the ball, he was vexed at it. He thought he had perceived in her for some time a melancholy disposition in sympathy with his own: all on a sudden she appeared to him to be taken up with dancing, an art in which she excelled; and her imagination seemed fired at the approach of a féte. Corinne was not frivolous by character; but she felt herself every day more and more enslaved by her love for Oswald, and she would fain endeavour to weaken its force. She knew by experience, that reflection and sacrifices have less effect upon passionate characters than dissipation, and she thought that reason did not consist in conquering ourselves according to rules, but by doing so how we can.

"I must," said she to Lord Nelville, who reproached her with her intention of going to the ball, "I must know, however, if there be only you in the world who can fill the void of my life; if that which pleased me formerly may not still have the power to amuse me; and if the sentiment you have inspired me with must absorb every other interest, every other idea."—"You would then cease to love me?" replied Oswald.—"No;" answered Corinne, "but it is only in domestic life that it could be pleasing to me to feel thus governed by a single affection. To me who need my talents, my mind, and my imagination, to support the lustre of that kind of life which I have adopted, it must be painful—extremely painful to love as I love you."—"You would not sacrifice to me then," said Oswald to her, "this homage and this glory."—"Of what importance can it be to you," said Corinne, "to know whether or not I would sacrifice them to you? Since we are not absolutely destined for one another, it would not be prudent to let that happiness with which I must be satisfied, wither for ever."—Lord Nelville made no answer, because it was necessary, in expressing his sentiments, to avow also the purpose they inspired, and of this his own heart was still in ignorance. He was silent therefore, and sighing, followed Corinne to the ball, whither he went with much reluctance.

It was the first time since his calamity that he had seen a large assembly; and the tumult of a féte caused him such an impression of sadness that he remained a long time in a room contiguous to that appropriated for the ball, his head supported on his hand, not even curious to behold Corinne dance. He listened to the festive music, which like every other music, produces reverie, though only intended to inspire joy. The Count d'Erfeuil arrived, quite enchanted at the sight of a ball, which produced in him some recollections of France.—"I have tried all I could," said he to Lord Nelville, "to discover something interesting in these ruins of which they talk so much, and I can really find no charm in them. It must be the effect of a very great prejudice to admire those heaps of rubbish covered with thorns. I shall speak my mind of them when I return to Paris, for it is time that this Italian delusion should cease. There is not a monument now standing whole in any part of Europe, that I would not sooner see than those old stumps of pillars, those bas-reliefs, all black with time, which can only be admired by dint of erudition. A pleasure which must be bought with so much study, does not appear to me very lively in itself—to be charmed with the sights of Paris, nobody need grow pale over books." Lord Nelville made no reply.—The Count interrogated him afresh, as to the impression that Rome produced on him. "In the midst of a ball," said Oswald, "is not the most proper time for serious conversation on this subject; and you know that I am incapable of any other."—"Well and good:" replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "I am more gay than you I admit; but who knows whether I am not also the more wise of the two? Believe me, there is much philosophy in my apparent levity: it is the way we should take life."—"You are perhaps in the right," answered Oswald, "but it is from nature, and not from reflection, that you acquire that way of thinking; and that is why your manner of taking life may only suit yourself."

The Count d'Erfeuil heard the name of Corinne mentioned in the ball room, and entered it to know what was going forward. Lord Nelville advanced as far as the door, and beheld the Prince Amalfi, a Neapolitan of the most handsome figure, who besought Corinne to dance with him the Tarantula, a Neapolitan dance full of grace and originality. The friends of Corinne besought her also to comply with his request. She yielded to their desire without waiting to be asked frequently, which astonished the Count d'Erfeuil, accustomed as he was to the refusals with which it is customary to precede consenting to a request of this nature. But in Italy, these kind of graces are unknown, and all believe they please most in society by showing an eagerness to do what is asked of them. Corinne would have invented this natural behaviour if she were not already accustomed to it. The dress she had chosen for the ball was elegant and light; her hair was gathered up in a fillet of silk, after the Italian fashion; and her eyes expressed a lively pleasure, which rendered her more seductive than ever. Oswald was disturbed at this; he warred against himself; he was indignant at being captivated with charms which he ought to lament, since, far from thinking to please him, it was to escape his empire that Corinne appeared so attractive.—But who could resist the seductions of a grace like hers? Were she even disdainful, she would be still more omnipotent; and that certainly was not the disposition of Corinne. She perceived Lord Nelville, and blushed, while there was in her eyes as she looked upon him, a most enchanting softness.

Corrine was prevented by the crowd from making any answer to Lord Nelville. They were going to the supper room, and each cavaliere servente was hastening to seat himself by the side of his partner. A strange lady entered when all the seats were occupied, and no gentleman, except Lord Nelville and Count d'Erfeuil, made her an offer of his. This was not the effect of impoliteness or of egotism; but the idea which the great Roman lords entertain of honour and duty, is not to stir one step, nor be absent one moment from their ladies. Some who were unable to find seats, stood behind the chairs of their mistresses, ready to wait upon them at the least signal. The ladies only conversed with their gallants; strangers wandered unnoticed about the circle; for the ladies in Italy are unacquainted with coquetry, nor does any vain triumph of self-love ever introduce itself into their tender attachments. They have no desire to please any other than him who possesses their affection; you can never engage their minds before you have interested their hearts or pleased their eyes, and frequently the most sudden beginnings of passion are followed by a sincere devotion, and even a very long constancy. In Italy, infidelity is more severely condemned in man than in woman. Three or four gentlemen, under different titles, are followers of the same lady, who leads them about with her, often without even concerning herself to mention their names to the master of the house who receives them. One is the favoured suitor—the other he who aspires to be so—a third is called the sufferer (il patito); this latter is absolutely disdained, but nevertheless, permitted to continue his adoration; and all these rivals live peaceably together. The use of the poignard now only survives among the common people. There is in this country a whimsical mixture of simplicity and depravity, dissimulation and truth, sincerity and revenge, weakness and resolution, which can only be explained by constant observation; the reason being that their good qualities proceed from the fact that nothing is done from vanity, and their bad ones from the fact that they will do a great deal for interest, whether that interest be allied to love, to ambition, or to fortune.

Distinctions of rank have in general little effect in Italy; this is not from philosophy, but their facility of character and familiarity of manners. This accounts for the little influence of aristocratic prejudices amongst them; for as society does not pretend to judge of anything, it embraces the opinions of all.

After supper the company betook themselves to play. Some ladies preferred the game of hazard, whilst others chose the silent one of whist; and not a word was heard pronounced in that room which so lately was filled with noise. The inhabitants of the south often pass from the greatest agitation to the most profound repose: another contrasted part of their character is indolence united to the most unwearied activity. In any individual instance among these people, we must beware of judging upon a first observation, since we find in them the most opposite qualities: if at one moment they are prudent, perhaps in the next they show themselves the boldest of men; if they appear indolent, it is only because they are reposing after some exertion, or preparing for another: their soul loses none of its force in society, but is most probably concentrating all its energies for decisive circumstances.

In this Roman assembly of which Oswald and Corinne formed a part, there were men who lost enormous sums at play, without betraying in their countenances the slightest emotion. Had these men been relating some facts of trifling importance, they would have exhibited the most lively expression and the most animated gestures; but when their passions arrive at a certain pitch of violence, they dread the eye of observation, and nearly always conceal them beneath a veil of silence and apparent apathy.

The scene of the ball was impressed upon Lord Nelville's memory, associated with bitter resentment; for he feared that the enthusiasm of the Italians had, at least for a moment, robbed him of the affection of Corinne. This rendered him very unhappy; but pride whispered him to conceal it, or discover it only by expressing contempt for the suffrages of those who had flattered the dazzling accomplishments of his mistress. He was invited by the company to make one at play, but he refused. Corinne did the same, and motioned him to come and sit down by her. Oswald expressed himself uneasy, lest he should expose Corinne to observation by thus passing the whole evening with her in company. "Make yourself easy on that score," said she, "nobody will trouble their heads with us: it is the custom here for people to do as they please in company; we have no established, ceremonious forms to lay one another under an unpleasant restraint, nor do we exact any formal attention; a general polite disposition is all that is expected. This is not, certainly, a country where liberty exists such as you understand the term in England; but we enjoy here a perfect independence in society." "That is to say," replied Oswald, "you show a complete disregard for manners." "At least," interrupted Corinne, "we show no hypocrisy. M. de la Rochefoucault has said, 'coquetry is the least of a woman's defects': in truth, whatever may be the faults of women in Italy, they do not seek to hide them by dissimulation. And if the sacredness of marriage be not here sufficiently respected, it is at least with the consent of both parties."

"It is not from sincerity that this kind of frankness proceeds," replied Oswald, "but from indifference to public opinion. When I arrived here, I had a letter of recommendation to a princess, which I gave to my Italian servant to deliver; he said to me, 'Sir, it will be of no use to deliver this letter now, for the princess sees nobody; she is inamorata;' and this state of being in love, is announced with as much indifference as any other situation incidental to our existence. This publicity cannot be palliated by the plea of extraordinary vehemence of passion; several attachments of this sort succeed each other, and are of equal notoriety. So little are women given to mystery in this respect, that they avow their connections with less embarrassment than those of our country would feel in speaking of their husbands. It is easy to believe that no profound or delicate sentiment is mixed with this sensibility of passion, divested of modesty. Hence it happens that in this nation, where nothing is thought of but love, there is not a single romance; because love is here so rapid and so public that it affords no interesting developments; and to give a true picture of general manners in this respect, it would be necessary to begin and terminate it in the first page. Pardon me, Corinne," cried Lord Nelville, observing the pain that he gave her; "you are an Italian, and that thought ought to disarm me; but one of the causes of that incomparable grace which distinguishes you, is the union of all the characteristic charms of different nations. I know not in what country you have been brought up; but it appears to me certain, that you have not passed your whole life in Italy—perhaps in England itself—Ah, Corinne! if that were so, how could you have quitted that sanctuary of modesty and delicacy, for these regions, where not only virtue, but love itself, is so badly understood? It is breathed in the air; but does it penetrate the heart? Your poetry, in which love performs so principal a part, possesses considerable grace, and much imagination; it is ornamented with brilliant pictures, whose colours are lively and voluptuous. But where will you find that tender, melancholy sentiment, which animates our poetry? What have you that can be put in comparison with the scene between Belvidera and her husband, in Otway; or with that in Shakespeare, between Romeo and Juliet? But above all, what have you to compare with those admirable lines of Thomson, in his 'Spring,' where he paints in such noble and affecting traits, the happiness of love, when sanctioned by marriage? Have you any such marriage in Italy? And can love exist where there is no domestic felicity? Is it not this happiness which the heart seeks, as possession is the object of sensual passion? Do not all young and beautiful women resemble each other, unless the qualities of the mind and soul determine a preference? And what desire is excited by all these qualities? Marriage. That is to say, the association of every thought, and of every sentiment. Illicit love, when unfortunately it exists amongst us, is, if it may be so expressed, only a reflection of marriage. In such connections, that happiness is sought for, which the wanderer cannot find at home; and infidelity itself is more moral in England than marriage in Italy."

These words were hard: they deeply wounded the sensibility of Corinne; who, rising immediately, her eyes filled with tears, quitted the room and returned directly home. Oswald was distracted at having offended her; but it was the irritation of his mind, occasioned by the impression she made in the ball, which had betrayed itself in the remarks that had just escaped him. He followed her to her abode; but she refused to see him. He called again the next morning, but in vain: her door was closed against him. This protracted refusal to receive Lord Nelville, was not agreeable to the disposition of Corinne; but she was painfully afflicted at the opinion he had expressed of the Italian women; and this very opinion induced her to form a determination of concealing, for the future, if possible, the sentiment that preyed on her heart.

Oswald, on his side, found, in this instance, that the behaviour of Corinne was not consistent with her natural simplicity, and he became confirmed more and more in the discontent with which the ball had inspired him; and a disposition of mind was excited from these circumstances, capable of struggling against the passion whose empire he dreaded. His principles were rigid, and the mystery which enveloped the past life of her whom he loved, afflicted him intensely. The manners of Corinne appeared to him most fascinating, but sometimes too much animated by the universal desire of pleasing. He discovered much nobleness and reserve in her conversation and deportment; but she seemed to indulge in too much latitude of opinion. In fact, Oswald was a captivated man, hurried away by the passion he felt for his accomplished mistress, but cherishing in his breast an opponent which combated his feelings. Such a situation of mind is frequently attended with much bitterness. We are dissatisfied with ourselves, and with others. We suffer, and feel at the same time that our suffering ought to increase, or at least terminate in a violent explanation, by which one of those two sentiments that lacerate the heart must obtain a complete triumph.

It was in such a state of mind as this that Lord Nelville wrote to Corinne. His letter was harsh and ungentlemanly. He felt this; but various confused emotions impelled him to send it: he was rendered so wretched by these internal conflicts, that he wished, at all hazards, for some circumstance or other to terminate them.

A report, which had just been communicated to him by the Count d'Erfeuil, though he did not give credence to it, contributed perhaps to give more asperity to his expressions. It was noised about Rome, that Corinne was about to marry the Prince Amalfi. Oswald knew very well that she did not love him, and of course concluded that the events of the ball afforded the only foundation for such a report; but he was convinced that she had been at home to the Prince on the morning when he himself was refused admission; and too proud to discover the slightest sentiment of jealousy, he satisfied his discontent by denigrating the nation, for which he beheld with so much pain, Corinne's predilection.

Oswald's Letter to Corinne.

January 24, 1795.

"You refuse to see me; you are offended at our conversation of the night before last; and you have doubtless formed an intention to open your doors in future only to your own countrymen, meaning probably by this means, to expiate the fault you have committed in admitting to your society a man of another nation. However, far from repenting my sincerity with respect to the Italians, far from regretting the observations which I made to you, whom, deluded by phantoms, I wished to consider as an Englishwoman, I will venture to predict more strongly still, that you will find neither happiness nor dignity should you make choice of a husband from that society by which you are surrounded. I know not the Italian worthy of you; there is not one by whose alliance you could be honoured, let him be invested with whatever title he may. Men in Italy are much less estimable than women; for they possess the defects of the women, in addition to their own. Will you persuade me, that these inhabitants of the South, who so pusillanimously shrink from pain, and pursue the phantom of pleasure with so much avidity, can be susceptible of love? Have you not seen (I have the fact from you) the very last month, an Italian husband at the play, who but eight days before had lost his wife, and a wife whom he pretended to love? They are here not more eager to remove the dead from their sight than to efface the remembrance of them from their mind. The funeral ceremonies are attended to by the priests, as the rites of love are performed by the attendant Cavaliers: ceremonial and custom supply the place of regret and enthusiasm. Lastly, and it is this that principally destroys love, the men of Italy are incapable of inspiring the women with any kind of respect: the latter do not feel obliged by the submission of the former, because their character is not dignified with firmness, nor their life with serious occupation. In order that nature and social order may appear in all their beauty, man must be the protector, and woman the protected; but the protector must adore that weakness which he defends, and reverence the helpless deity, who, like the household gods of the ancients, brings happiness to his home. So it might almost be said, that every woman is a Sultan, having at her command a seraglio of men.

The men are here distinguished by that softness and pliability of character, which properly belongs to women. An Italian proverb says: 'who knows not how to feign, knows not how to live.' Is not that a woman's proverb? In truth, how can the manly character be formed upon true principles of dignity and strength, in a country which affords no military career of glory, which contains no free institutions? Hence it is, that they direct their minds to all the little arts of cunning; they treat life like a game of chess, in which success is everything. All that remains to them from antiquity, is something gigantic in their expressions and in their external magnificence; but this baseless grandeur is frequently accompanied by all that is vulgar in taste, and miserably negligent in domestic life. Is this, Corinne, the nation which you would be expected to prefer to every other? Is this the nation whose roaring applauses are so necessary to you, that every other destiny would appear dull and congenial compared with their noisy 'bravos?' Who could flatter himself with being able to render you happy away from these dear scenes of tumult? What an inconceivable character is that of Corinne! profound in sentiment, but frivolous in taste; independent from innate pride, yet servile from the need of distraction! She is a sorceress whose spells alternately alarm and then allay the fears which they have created; who dazzles our view in native sublimity, and then, all of a sudden disappears from that region where she is without her like, to lose herself in an indiscriminate crowd. Corinne, Corinne, he who is your adorer cannot help feeling his love disturbed by fear!

Oswald."

Corinne, on reading this letter, was much incensed at the inveterate prejudices which Oswald appeared to entertain of her country. But she was happy enough in her conjectures, to discover that she owed this to the dissatisfaction he experienced at the fête, and to her refusing to see him ever since after his final conversation on that evening; and this reflection softened a little the painful impression which the letter produced upon her. She hesitated for some time, or at least, fancied she hesitated, as to the conduct which she should observe towards him. The tenderness she cherished for this eccentric lover, induced a wish to see him; but it was extremely painful to her that he should imagine her to be desirous of marrying him, although their fortunes were at least equal, and although in revealing her name, it would be easy to show that it was by no means inferior to that of Lord Nelville. Nevertheless, the independence and singularity of that mode of life which she had adopted, ought to have inspired her with a disinclination for marriage; and most assuredly she would have repulsed the idea, had not her passion blinded her to the sufferings she would have to undergo in espousing an Englishman and renouncing Italy.

We willingly make an offering of pride upon the altar of the heart; but when social prosperity and worldly interests oppose obstacles in any shape, when we can suppose that the object of our love makes any sort of sacrifice in uniting himself to us, it is no longer possible to show him any alteration of sentiment. Corinne not being equal to a determination to break off with Oswald, wished to persuade herself of the possibility of seeing him in future, and yet concealing the passion which she felt for him. It was in this intention that she came to a determination to confine herself, in the answer she should send to his letter, merely to his unjust accusations against the Italian nation, and to reason with him upon this subject as if it were the only one that interested her. Perhaps the best way in which a woman of intellect can resume her coldness and dignity, is by seeking an asylum in her own mind.

Corinne to Lord Nelville.

Jan. 15, 1795.

"Did your letter, my lord, concern only me, I should not have attempted the task of self-justification: my character is so easy to know, that he who might not be able to comprehend it by himself, would derive little aid in his scrutiny by any explanation that I could give him on the subject. The virtuous reserve of the English women, and the graceful art of the French, take my word for it, often serve to conceal one half of what is passing in their souls: that which you are pleased to distinguish in me by the name of magic, is nothing but a sort of transparency of mind, which allows its different sentiments and opposing thoughts to be seen without labouring to harmonize them; for that harmony, when it exists, is almost always assumed—most genuine characters being by nature inconsequent—but it is not of myself I wish to speak, it is of that unfortunate nation you so cruelly attack. Can it be my affection for my friends which has inspired you with this bitter malevolence? You know me too well to be jealous of me; indeed I have not the vanity to believe that a sentiment of this description could have sufficient power to transport you to such a degree of injustice. You repeat the opinion of every other foreigner upon the Italian character, when drawn from first impressions; but it requires deeper penetration, and a more patient scrutiny, to be able to form a correct judgment upon this country, which at different epochs has been so great. Whence comes it that this nation, under the Romans, has attained the highest military character in the world? that it has been the most jealous of its liberties, in the republics of the middle ages, and in the sixteenth century, the most illustrious in literature, and the arts and sciences? Has she not pursued glory under every form? And if now, alas! she can boast of none, why do you not rather accuse her political situation, since in other circumstances she has shown herself different?

"I know not whether I deceive myself; but the wrongs of the Italians inspire me with no other sentiment than pity for their lot. Foreigners have in every age conquered and torn asunder this beautiful country, the perpetual object of their ambition; and yet foreigners bitterly reproach this nation, with the wrongs of a conquered and dismembered country? Europe is indebted to the Italians for the arts and sciences, and shall Europe, turning their own benefits against them, dispute with her benefactors the only species of renown which can distinguish a nation without either military strength or political liberty?

"It is so true that nations derive their character from the nature of their government, that in this same Italy, we behold a remarkable difference of manners in the different states that compose it. The Piedmontese, who formed a little national body, have a more martial spirit than all the rest of Italy; the Florentines, who have had the good fortune either to enjoy their liberty, or to be governed by liberal princes, are mild and enlightened; the Venetians and the Genoese, discover a genius for politics, because their government is a republican Aristocracy; the Milanese are remarkable for their sincerity, which character they have long since derived from the nations of the north; the Neapolitans might easily become a warlike people, because during several centuries they have been united under a government, very imperfect it is true, but yet a government of their own. The Roman nobility being totally unoccupied with either military or political pursuits, must in consequence become indolent and uninformed; but the ecclesiastics, having a career of emulation open before them, are much more enlightened and cultivated than the nobles, and as the papal government admits of no distinction of birth, and is purely elective in the clerical body, it begets a sort of liberality, not in ideas, but in habits, which renders Rome a most agreeable abode for those who have neither the prospect, nor the ambition of worldly eminence.

"The nations of the south more easily receive the impression of their political establishment than those of the north; they possess an indolence which soon softens into resignation, and nature offers them so many enjoyments, that they are easily consoled for the loss of those which society refuses them. There is certainly much depravity in Italy, and nevertheless civilisation is here in a much lower stage of development than that of other countries. There is something almost savage in the character of the Italians, notwithstanding their intellectual acuteness, which too much resembles that of the hunter in the art of surprising his prey. And indolent people easily acquire a cunning character; they possess a habit of gentleness which serves them, upon occasion, to dissimulate even their wrath: it is always by our usual manners that we succeed in concealing an unexpected situation.

"The Italians are sincere and faithful in the private intercourse of life. Interest and ambition exercise considerable sway among them; but pride and vanity none: the distinctions of rank produce little impression. They have no society, no salons, no fashions, no little daily methods of giving effect to minute circumstances. These habitual sources of dissimulation and envy exist not among them. When they deceive their enemies and their rivals, it is because they consider themselves in a state of warfare with them; but in other circumstances they are frank and ingenuous. It is this ingenuousness alone that has scandalised you respecting our women, who, hearing love constantly spoken of, and surrounded by its seductions and examples, conceal not their sentiments, and if it may be so expressed, give even, to gallantry a character of innocence; besides, they have no ridicule to dread from that society in which they live. Some of them are so ignorant that they cannot write; this they publicly avow, and answer a billet by means of their agent (il paglietto) in a formal style on official paper. But to make amends for this, among those who are well educated, you will find academy professors who give public lessons in a black scarf; and should this excite a smile, you would be answered, 'Is there any harm in knowing Greek? Is there any harm in earning one's living by one's own exertions? Why should so simple a matter provoke your mirth?'

"But now my lord, allow me to touch upon a more delicate subject; allow me to enquire the cause why our men display so little military ardour. They expose their lives freely when impelled by love and hatred; and a stab from a stiletto given or received in such a cause, excites neither astonishment nor dread. They fear not death when natural passions bid them brave its terrors; but often, it must be owned, they prefer life to political interests, which seldom affect them because they possess no national independence. Often too, that notion of honour which descends to us from the age of chivalry, has little power in a nation where opinion, and society by which opinion is formed, do not exist; it is a natural consequence of this disorganisation of every public authority, that women should attain that ascendancy which they here possess over the men, perhaps in too high a degree to respect and admire them. Nevertheless, the conduct of men towards women is full of delicacy and attention. The domestic virtues in England constitute female glory and happiness; but if there are countries where love exists outside the sacred ties of marriage; that one among these countries where female happiness excites the greatest attention and care, is Italy. Here men have invented moral duties for relations outside the bounds of morality itself; but at least in the division of these duties, they have been both just and generous: they considered themselves more guilty than women, when they broke the ties of love; because the latter had made the greater sacrifice and lost more. They conceive that before the tribunal of the heart, he is the most guilty who does the most injury. Men do wrong for want of feeling; but women through weakness of character. Society, which is at once rigorous and depraved—that is to say, without pity for errors when they entail misfortunes,—must be very severe upon women; but in a country which has no society, natural goodness of heart has freer exercise.

"Ideas of consideration and dignity are, I agree, less powerful and even less known in Italy than any where else: the want of society and of public opinion is the cause of it: but notwithstanding all that may be said of the perfidy of the Italians, I maintain that there is not a country in the world where more sincerity is to be found. So far is this sincerity from being checked by vanity, that although that country be one of which foreigners speak most ill, there is no country where they meet with a more kindly reception. The Italians are reproached with being too much inclined to flattery; but it must be allowed in their favour, that generally, they lavish their soft expressions, not from design, but a real desire to please; nor can it be alleged that these expressions are ever falsified by their conduct. But it may be asked, would they be faithful to their friends in extraordinary circumstances, in which it might be necessary to brave for them the perils of adversity? A very small number, I must own, would be capable of such friendship; but this observation will not apply to Italy alone.